


Call Disconnected

by amethystviolist



Series: "Phone Call" Verse [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Companion Piece, M/M, Nobody is Dead, Sequel, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, he's still dead, i mean except Merlin from last fic, major angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 18:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11167551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystviolist/pseuds/amethystviolist
Summary: “Arthur, you’re moping again,” Merlin said from the couch, his limbs draped over its faded cushions in a comforting familiarity.“Yes, I am,” Arthur grumbled back, rising and walking to the kitchen with no real purpose. “What else do you expect me to do?”Merlin’s lips quirked at that, his eyes growing sadder as they tracked Arthur’s path. “You could actually help people, like your job entails. What, you lose one person and grief takes down the great Arthur Pendragon?”





	Call Disconnected

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING (spoilery): If you're sensitive to mentions of suicide, this is not for you! There is not a suicide attempt, but suicide is very clearly considered. Please read safely.
> 
> Wow, I'm shocked at the response to "Phone Call" in just a few days! Thanks for all your support guys <3  
> Possible companion pieces still coming your way- subscribe for updates or contact me at amethystviolist on tumblr!
> 
> Have fun ripping your hearts out some more.

The apartment was silent. Yes, a clock ticked from the left wall, and the heating unit hummed quietly, but to Arthur, the rooms were still and silent.

For a moment, Arthur clutched his keys tighter, the urge to throw them and scream at the silent walls almost overwhelming. Anything to make the pressing silence go away.

The moment passed. Arthur dropped his keys calmly into the bowl by the door, and shrugged off his coat, hanging it by the door with care that M- that his husband had never shown. The coat stilled when Arthur took his hands away, and its soft rustling and comforting warmth was gone from Arthur’s life.

The clock ticked away the silent seconds.

Moving into the kitchen, Arthur put on the kettle and pulled out two mugs from the cabinet out of habit, placing them on the counter and then abruptly staring at them in a loss, as if he’d never used a cup before in his life.

The tea kettle screamed, momentarily breaking the unbearable silence.

Some minutes later, Arthur clicked off the stove and positioned his tea bag just so as he relieved the kettle of the heat, once more sentencing himself to the dead silence of his home. Arthur cradled his mug to his chest and somehow walked into the sitting room, lowering himself to the couch and forcibly ignoring the poorly crocheted blanket to his right. Hunith had been so proud of it that Christmas, and though Arthur liked to poke fun at its shaky weaving, it had always been warm and comforting, always there when Arthur needed it.

Arthur’s tea grew cold, and the clock snapped up the minutes.

The television was off, but Arthur stared at it anyway. It’s smooth glass face reflected back his own pale visage, distorted by the distance and by loss. Arthur wasn’t crying. He didn’t think would ever cry again. What was the point of crying when there was no one to pull him close and gently insult him while somehow managing to comfort him better than any other could?

Arthur was tired.

The clock was still ticking.

Some time later, a car honked loudly on the street outside, and encouraged Arthur out of his staring. He relinquished his mug of cold tea to the tabletop, and walked to the bathroom unhurriedly. There was no reason to rush. Nothing waited for him in the bedroom except more silence and cold sheets.

Arthur didn’t bother undressing or getting under the blankets before he lay down in their- in his bed. The window by his side was dark, the curtains limply hanging shadows. Arthur was forcefully reminded of his own state of mind. Curtains hung in front, but only empty darkness lay behind. There was no brilliant light there anymore.

The clock from the entryway seemed to follow him, clacking coldly in the echoing emptiness.

Sleep never came to Arthur anymore. He found escape forcibly instead, downing two pills that tasted like blood and nothingness before falling back on the bed and staring at the curtains and the endless darkness beyond the glass.

The clock kept ticking.

“Arthur, you’re moping again,” Merlin said from the couch, his limbs draped over its faded cushions in a comforting familiarity.

“Yes, I am,” Arthur grumbled back, rising and walking to the kitchen with no real purpose. “What else do you expect me to do?”

Merlin’s lips quirked at that, his eyes growing sadder as they tracked Arthur’s path. “You could actually help people, like your job entails. What, you lose one person and grief takes down the great Arthur Pendragon?”

Arthur didn’t answer verbally, but pointedly slammed a pot while glaring at Merlin. _Obviously_ he was taken down by the loss of Merlin. It was  _Merlin_. Arthur couldn't just pretend like nothing had happened. He hadn't even tried that. Merlin was too important to Arthur, as his husband very well knew.

Merlin, as usual, just laughed. Others might be afraid of Arthur’s glare, or intimidated by his slamming of doors and staplers and kitchen pots, but Merlin was never afraid.

“That’s not true,” Merlin snorted, reading Arthur’s mind. “I’m afraid of a lot of things. Losing you, mainly, but also semi-trucks next to me on the freeway and unprotected heights. And yes, I was afraid when I died.”

Arthur’s whole body flinched, and the pot he had been pretending to wipe clean clanged to the floor.

“Sorr-”

“No.” Arthur interrupted Merlin’s apology. He didn’t want to hear Merlin apologize. He wanted to hear Merlin laugh.

Obligingly, Merlin chuckled. At Arthur’s disgruntled expression, probably.

The apartment was warm and full of sound and color, and Arthur was struck by a sudden thought.

“I can get you back,” Arthur said suddenly, looking at Merlin sitting on the couch.

Merlin was no longer smiling. He was frowning heavily, his eyes dark and tired in a way Arthur hated to see.

“No, Arthur,” Merlin said firmly. “I know what you’re thinking, but no. I forbid you. You need to live.”

“Why?” Arthur asked simply. “My world is bleak and empty, and will be for the rest of my life. Home is too quiet without you in it, cold and distant... and I’m going to be alone in it forever.”

Merlin quirked his lips to the side, half-smiling in a sad sort of way. “You’re doing too much good in the world to leave it now. Come on, I know you’re impatient, but you need to wait for me a little longer. Live, Arthur. Besides, I will always be with you.”

“You’re such an unoriginal sap,” Arthur grumbled, and left all his pretenses of cleaning and walked to the living room, leaning on the back of the couch next to Merlin’s warm, expressive eyes.

Merlin laughed a little, and Arthur felt his heart beat forcefully with mixed warmth and pain.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s still true, you know,” Merlin told him, smiling sadly. A clock was ticking. “I love you.”

Arthur tensed and looked around the room, which was blurring at the edges. “No,” he whispered, then more desperately, “No! Not yet!”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Merlin promised, stretching out a hand to caress Arthur’s face. “You better take a while, though, you prat, or I’ll be very cross with you.”

“Merlin!” Arthur choked, reaching to meet Merlin’s outstretched hand with his own and finding the distance to be too much. “No! Merlin!”

The clock was clicking insistently.

“Arthur, I love-” Merlin tried to say, but his face vanished before he could finish.

“ _Merlin_!” Arthur yelled, and bolted upright, hands still reaching, grasping, stretching out to pull Merlin back to him.

His bed was empty.

His home was silent.

The clock ticked on unconcernedly, steadily pacing out the hours of Arthur’s life without Merlin in it.

A wave of resolve flooded Arthur’s mind and he rolled out of bed with more intent in his step than he’d had in days. He marched into the bathroom and yanked out every bottle of medicine he owned, lining them up on the counter in unorderly rows until the cabinet and sink drawers were empty. Arthur placed a paper cup by the sink and began methodically dumping every capsule from its package into the cup, creating a strangely colored mixture of pills.

Arthur held the paper cup for a long time, perfectly motionless.

The clock continued its unending beat.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The toilet flushed loudly, the sound momentarily drowning out the clock, and Arthur watched the pills spiral out of his reach.

The water stopped, but the clock didn’t.

Click.

Click.

Arthur turned out of the bathroom and went to the sitting room, where he gently took the clock down from its place on the wall.

Click.

Click.

Cli-

And he smashed it over his knee into a thousand silent pieces.

The apartment was quiet.

Sunlight was peeking cautiously through the curtains.

And for the first time, Arthur welcomed the absence of sound.

**Author's Note:**

> ...yay? I did have an ending where Arthur dies, but I thought we'd had enough sobbing for now. 
> 
> Comments are lovely!


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